Part 37 (1/2)

Foremost among the party were the Pony Rider Boys. Even Stacy Brown, serious-faced and impatient to be off, had saddled and bridled his pony and sat awaiting the order to move.

At last all was ready.

”Right!” announced the foreman, whereupon the sheepmen, headed by Luke and Tad Butler, started up at a brisk gallop, headed straight across the mesa, taking a course that would lead them to the foothills, a short distance ahead of them. Beaching the foothills, they continued on for some two or three miles. Here the foreman gave the order to open the fan, he taking the lead on the left and Tad on the right. The searchers were now moving with a s.p.a.ce of about a quarter of a mile between them, shouting out the name of Phil Simms now and then, these calls running down the line to the lower end of the fan-shaped formation.

After a time Tad found that he could no longer hear the shouts of his companions, yet from the position of the sun, which he consulted frequently, he felt sure that he was following the right course.

On and on he rode, until the sun lay on the western horizon. The others of the party were making a thorough search, investigating every gully and draw that lay in their course, shouting for Phil, hut not shooting their guns, as this was to be the signal that the lost boy had been found.

”I'm afraid we are going to miss him,” mused the foreman. ”If we fail to find him, then they've got him, sure.”

At last he had completed his half of the sweep of the fan, and his face wore a troubled look as his pony emerged from the foothills onto the open mesa again. The sun was setting.

Luke rode out and waited a few moments, and when joined by the rest of his section, started back to the camp.

Old Hicks had prepared the hated mutton for supper by the time the right side of the fan formation got in. Not a trace had one of them found of the missing Philip Simms.

The rancher said nothing when told that they had failed. He strode away to his tent and they saw him no more for hours.

They had just gathered about the table for the evening meal, all unusually silent, when Ned Rector, glancing about, made a sudden discovery.

”Where's Tad?” he demanded.

”Didn't he come in?” asked the foreman, pausing in the act of sitting down to the table.

”That's what I should like to know? Where is he?”

No one seemed to know.

”Now, he's gone, too,” breathed the foreman anxiously. ”That's one more mystery on the old Custer trail.”

”We--we'll have to go hunt for Tad now. You don't suppose he and Phil are together, do you?” asked Walter.

”I don't know. I hope they are. But, boy, it's useless to go out looking for them now. All we can do will be to wait until morning, then take up the search again”----

”That's what comes from taking kids out on a man's job,” growled Old Hicks, as he served the mutton.

”Hicks, no one asked you for your opinion,” snapped the foreman. ”These boys have done men's work ever since they joined. Had it not been for Tad, Boss Simms would have been out of business entirely now. Don't let me hear anybody casting any slurs on these boys. I won't stand for it.”

Old Hicks grumbled and hobbled away to his black kettle, while the others ate their supper in silence. But, somehow, the meal was far from satisfying, and one by one they rose from the table, leaving plates half filled, and strolled away to spend the evening as best they could until bedtime. Ned and the foreman remained up, for they were to go out at midnight and take their trick at watching over the herd.

”I've just got an idea,” said the foreman, calling Ned to him.

”Yes; what is it?”

”I'm going to put some one on the herd in my place and ride over to Groveland. Want to go along?”

”Yes, if it has anything to do with our friends.”

”That's what I mean.”